Saving Rose Tyler
by Nagi Kokuyo
Summary: The Daleks have been defeated and the Earth is saved, but all is not right for Rose. She's trapped in Pete's World again, and she is not okay. After her world changes for the worst, she returns to Broadchurch and DI Hardy, and brings with her a question that will haunt him worse than when she disappeared: can he save her? And what from?
1. Journey's End

**Title:** Saving Rose Tyler

**Author: **Nagi Kokuyo

**Fandom(s): **Broadchurch & Doctor Who

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Some swearing, spoilers, depression, dealing with the topic of death and dying

**Spoilers: **I don't think there's anything important, but you should probably see up to ep 8 of Broadchurch, just in case. **Sequel to "The Blonde in the Leather Jacket,"** you should probably read that first. Also, this contains spoilers for The Stolen Earth and Journey's End. Mildly AU after Journey's End, because there is no Meta-Crisis Doctor.

**Summary: **The Daleks have been defeated and the Earth is saved, but all is not right for Rose. She's trapped in Pete's World again, and she is not okay. After her world changes for the worst, she returns to Broadchurch and DI Hardy to live her life, and brings with her a question that will haunt him: can he save her?

**A/N: **Back by popular demand—no, wait, that's not right. I felt bad for leading you guys on about a relationship between Hardy and Rose, and I did want to write a sequel…I warn you, this one is going to be rather more depressing.

**oOoOoOo**

Rose Tyler is a lot of things—daughter, sister, friend, girlfriend, shop girl, companion, time traveler, Defender of the Earth, Bad Wolf, professional meddler—also crazy, depending on who you ask.

But, she is not a fool.

She considers herself a smart girl, even though she didn't finish school and never got her A-levels; not book smart, maybe, but she is street smart, and that's what counts when you're running across the universe with a madman, getting in and out of trouble. She gets where she's not supposed to and can talk her way out of just about anything, and for what she can't, she's got a very big gun and her team to back her up. She's smart enough to have led the dimensional cannon development, and no matter what that pompous supervisor said, it wasn't because Pete's her step-dad. It was because she's clever and determined as hell, and she'd learned enough from the Doctor to understand most of this tech.

And all that paid off in the end, didn't it, because she made it back to the other side. Rose made it back to her Doctor. She hugged her mother and little Tony, kissed Jake and her head researcher, Ianto Jones, on the cheeks, and let those scientists catapult her molecules through a tattered rip in the universe. She was really glad she was right and it didn't kill her, because she found her Doctor again. She knew she would, she'd always known; there was nothing that could keep them apart, not even the universe and the fate of all reality.

Throwing her arms around him and feeling him—solid and _real—_was almost worth what she left behind.

Because she was ashamed to know that relief for finding him was the second thing that she felt when she finally came face to face with the Doctor; the first was a pang in her chest and a feeling of longing for a rough and awkward detective in a boring little village—_Alec._

How could Rose ever admit to the Doctor—_her _Doctor, the man who showed her the stars and introduced her to a whole new kind of living—that she was wishing for another man?

When she volunteered to go establish a Torchwood operation in the Dorset town of Broadchurch, she'd never heard of Danny Latimer or the Sandbrook Murders or Detective Inspector Alec Hardy. She'd had no idea what she was walking into; she'd just wanted to be near the Rift. If things were slipping through into the town, maybe she could find a way to the other side. Broadchurch could have been her way home.

Instead, she found someone nearly identical to the second man she'd called Doctor. For a moment, when she first saw him leaving the hotel, she thought she'd managed to cross dimensions without noticing. She was so excited, heart pounding and blood singing with the memory of all that waited beyond blue doors; she even took a step off the pavement.

Then, reality caught up with her and she stopped herself; it took actual, physical effort to keep herself from running across the road and throwing herself into his arms. No, that wasn't her Doctor; she could see the differences. His hair was a floppy mess, not the carefully styled mess she knew; he was pale and thin, and had a fair amount of scruff on his face. Now, it looked good, but it meant that he, whoever he was, was not the Doctor.

He was Detective Inspector Alec Hardy, and he was not the Doctor.

She watched him, followed him, and enjoyed teasing him more than she should have; but, she did feel bad when she saw exactly how far he was going to track her down. Jake thought it was hilarious to watch the guy go nuts, Mickey wanted to push the guy into the ocean for shits and giggles, and Ianto rolled his eyes and called them both insufferable. Rose thought it was kinda mean to make him think he was crazy.

Maybe he could help, she said; maybe, he could be the inside man with the police. He could keep an eye out for the weird stuff, and give them the head's up.

He's not the Doctor, they said, don't let your heart get in the way of your job. He can't help us, he doesn't even know about us.

Since when did she refrain from doing something just because it could go wrong? She told the Detective Inspector anyway, and somewhere along the way, Rose Tyler started to fall for DI Alec Hardy.

She was glad, of course, that she found somebody. She wasn't _in love _with him, not yet, but she could see it. For the first time since Canary Wharf, she could see having a life on this side. Alec was a good man. She deserved a good man. The Doctor would understand that.

He _would _understand, right?

There were a million chances for her to tell him, even with all the fighting and running for their lives, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Either she would get to stay on that side and she would move on, eventually forgetting Alec, or she would be sent back again. She didn't know which would be worse.

It was incredible, fighting and defending alongside Team TARDIS again. She'd missed it; fighting Cybermen and the odd violent visitor wasn't nearly as exciting as saving the world constantly. And seeing old friends again? Martha and Sarah Jane, and her Captain Jack, of course; it was better than anything she'd imagined. For the first time in years, she felt home.

Of course, it couldn't last, because that would have been too damn easy, and that's not how life works.

At the end of everything, Rose is right back where she was after Canary Wharf: on her knees in the sand on that _damned _beach, sobbing until she can barely breathe because the _Doctor left her. Again. _And there isn't a thing she can do about it, because she can't exactly argue with the safety of reality itself, no matter how much it hurts. She hears her superphone ringing, knows she should pick it up; by now, everyone at this side's Torchwood knows it's over. It's probably Jake or her mum, callin' to find out what happened, if she's even still alive.

She can't bring herself to answer it, though. She doesn't want to talk to anyone; she just wants to be alone for a little while. She wants to get away from all the aliens and pressure, and she wouldn't mind some chips, because crossing dimensional borders really takes it out of a girl. So, she just sits there and cries until the tears just won't come, and then she falls asleep, curled up on the damp sand in a too-big coat that she swiped from Jack. She doesn't want to _think. _She doesn't want to _feel._

She doesn't want to remember how, for the slightest moment, she had the opportunity to live out the rest of her life with a _human _Doctor, someone who could spend the rest of his life loving her.

She doesn't _want _to, but she does, and it hurts more than any flesh wound.

Rose Tyler cries, and something inside her breaks.

**oOoOoOo**

**I'm BAAAAACK! When I started uploading ****_The Blonde in the Leather Jacket, _****I'd already written the entire story. This time 'round, I have the first few chapters done, but the rest are still in the works. So, the in-between updates might be a little erratic. Bear with me, will you?**

**I'll update next Sunday, or when I get some reviews, whichever comes first.**

**So, shall we begin?**

**Allons-y!**


	2. Not Okay

It's three months and Rose knows that she's not okay.

She tells everyone she is, pretends she is, but she isn't. She is really _not okay. _Headaches, hot flashes, aches and pains, and the constant feeling that there's someone—_something—_watching. Watching and waiting. She doesn't know what it is or what it's waiting for, but every molecule of her being was screaming _bad._

Even as she's going through life like normal, living firmly in the state of denial and pointedly ignoring her coworkers' concern, she knows it's getting worse. She can barely sleep through the night because of terrible nightmares that she can barely remember; the headaches are a near constant, and she's carrying a bottle of ibuprofen in her purse, downing the pills like Tic-Tacs.

They're worried about her, and she feels guilty. Her mum wants her to talk to a therapist, Pete thinks she should take time off; Jake agrees, but he's a suck up and at least he buys her lunch when he tells her what to do. They're right, of course. She's empty inside, and whatever she's doing, it can hardly be called living.

And when her hand trembles so badly that she drops her coffee and the cup's shattering is a thunderclap, when the world spins like a carousel and her legs buckle, when she faints in the middle of a presentation—she knows she can't avoid it any longer.

Torchwood's medical team spends the better part of a week examining her. Poking, prodding, X-Rays, IVs, injections, MRIs—you name it, they try it. They draw blood so many times that she looks like a junkie. And Jake and Ianto are there the entire time as "moral support"; she's not sure whether to be pleased or annoyed that her team is so protective. But, it's better than her mum, who fluctuates between treating Rose like glass and acting like she's a pariah. Rose doesn't hold it against her; she wouldn't like to be around her either.

It doesn't matter in the end, what anyone else thinks or says or does, because it wouldn't change anything. All the tests lead the med team to a singular, unfortunate, but not unforeseen conclusion:

Rose is dying.

It's not a surprise; her health's been declining since before her trip back to the other dimension. It started as headaches; they say it will get progressively worse until she finally just…stops. They don't know what's wrong—it's like nothing they've ever seen before—but from what they can tell, her body is turning against itself. She doesn't understand most of the medical jargon; it was something about white blood cells and cellular mutation, and some kind of radiation no one recognizes. For all that, she knows that her headaches are starting to form a resistance to the painkillers, she fluctuates between insomnia and exhaustion, and her stomach is starting a rebellion against solid food.

She spends a week in bed wallowing in self-pity, and then says screw it and decides to do something instead.

Torchwood does the best it can for her, of course; after all, aside from being Gemini's stepdaughter, she was the Doctor's Companion with a capital C. She's their only connection to a god among men. If the Rift ever opens again and the Doctor returns to find that Torchwood did not do absolutely everything, there will be hell to pay and everyone on This Side will know why he is called the Oncoming Storm. But, Torchwood's best boils down to physical examinations, more tests than she can stand, and trial and error medication.

After an Incident that is not discussed and results in the lock down of all pointy objects, it is very clear that there is more error than acceptable.

She can't blame them for doing everything they can, even if they are failing to save her. There are good and bad days—days when she can barely leave her bed and days when she almost forgets that anything's wrong at all. For a little while, a series of radiation treatments seem to work, and she gets better.

Then she gets worse that she was before, and they have to accept that there is nothing they can do except make her comfortable.

Rose waits all of three days before packing up her flat and handing Pete her transfer papers. He takes them without saying a word.

On the day she plans to leave, she walks into the garage to find Jake leaning against her car, bag at his feet and keys in his hand. She doesn't bother asking how he got them.

"I'm coming with you," he says, and there's no room for argument or objection.

She wasn't planning on objecting, anyway. She wants him with her. They, and Mickey, became quite close after Rose and Mickey got stuck on this side, and even though she finds Jake's overprotective streak a bit annoying, she's grateful that he refuses to forsake her. She thinks it was Rickey's death that made the bleached blond so protective of his loved ones; should she feel guilty for being happy?

She doesn't know how long she has left; she does know that she's getting weaker, and she wants her big brother to be there when she can't take it anymore.

If she's going die no matter what happens, if it can happen at any time, then there's only one place for her to go. There's one person she wants to see before she bites it.

_Alec._

Rose Tyler is going back to Broadchurch.

**oOoOoOo**

**Don't kill me! *fends off pitchforks and screwdrivers***

**Honestly, did you think I'd make it easy for them? Ha! If you're looking for a love story, this is definitely not the place. Oh, Rose and Alec will get together, but I am going to make it as hard on them as possible. Starting with the incredible irony of his falling for a dying girl.  
**

**Again, don't kill me!**

**I'll update next Sunday, or when I get some reviews, whichever comes first.**


	3. Back in Broadchurch

She settles back into Broadchurch rather quickly, all things considered.

She and Jake move back into the house set aside for them by Torchwood—56 Old Church Road—and manage to fall back into a semblance of normality. Jake hates the idea of her doing any strenuous physical work, but she manages to convince him to let her do the grocery shopping and some housework with minimal argument and a brief pulling of rank. Also, a guilt trip. She'll make it up to him later, if she lives that long.

Of course and with no surprise, she's benched from active field work, but that's alright. For the better, really. She joined the Preachers—and, later, Torchwood—to help people. She can't do that if she's liable to keel over at any moment. So, she stays at the office and does research, paperwork, and archiving; she organizes assignments and identifies threats.

And for almost a month, she manages to avoid being seen by anyone who would recognize her as the same woman who vanished last year. Wearing a perception filter almost 24/7 certainly helped with that.

It's not easy, because she wants nothing more to run up to Alec and spill everything; she left him a letter explaining what she could at the time, and Jake swears up and down that he delivered it in person, but she has no way of knowing if her DI read it. _Her DI—_when did she start thinking of Alec as _her _DI? She likes the sound and feel of it in her head, but she daren't say it to his face.

But, every time she sees him on the street and takes a step towards him, she has to stop herself, and it's just like the first time.

_A figure in her periphery caught her attention; the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. Hand on the blaster hanging at her hip, she turned her head and— The air whooshed past her lips in the bastard child of a gasp and a moan. For several long seconds, she entertained the prospect that she'd accidentally fallen through the Rift and managed to cross dimensions. That was the only explanation, it was—It was just a fantasy, and she knew it._

_Just across the street, there was a man she would know anywhere, any_where.

No, _said something inside her, _that's not him. That's not my Doctor.

_Her eyes weren't lying to her, but her heart knew better, and as she looked again, she knew it was true. That man was not the Doctor, but he looked very much like him. Almost exactly like him, actually, and Rose remembered that almost everyone had a double in the universe—Pete and Jackie, Rickey and his grandmother. Rose didn't, and because he wasn't human, she'd assumed the Doctor didn't either._

_She was wrong, apparently._

_This wasn't her Doctor, the differences were clear. This man's hair was a washed out, floppy mess; the Doctor was almost obsessive about his hair, vain bloke. Ginger, not ginger—just sort of brown. This man was pale, as if he rarely went outside, and thin enough that his clothes hung off him. Rose wondered if he was eating enough, and then groaned; she was sounding like her mum._

_She turned away and started walking again, picking up pace until she was sprinting. _Faster, faster, _she felt more than thought; her legs and chest burned from the exertion, but she didn't slow down. She had to get away from the man who looked like the Doctor._

_Before she decided that she didn't care._

A million "what-if's" run through her mind when she sees him, questions that have haunted her since before she left Broadchurch last time.

What if he's in a relationship? What if he was _always _in a relationship and he just didn't tell her? It wasn't like they'd been dating at _any _point in their strange arrangement.

What if he's forgotten her? Or worse, what if he doesn't want to see her? What if he hates her?

She doesn't know what would be worse. Mostly, because she won't blame him one bit if he _does _hate her. She deserves it.

**oOoOoOo**

**I'm so sorry I updated late! Sunday was hectic and then I forgot, and again, so sorry! I'll make up for it by uploading the next chapter with this one.  
**


	4. Rose Tyler

Scowling and drenched, DI Hardy stalks up to the crime scene's supervisor and points at the large, unfamiliar vehicle blocking the entrance.

"What," he snarls, "is _that _doing in my way?"

The supervising officer—having come to associate DI Hardarse with headaches and paperwork—is uncharacteristically thrilled to have the detective on scene.

"Dunno, sir," says the officer, relieved. "Pulled up just after we arrived, and flashed their IDs. I had to let 'em in, they have clearance."

The vehicle is huge and bulky, a state-of-the-art 4x4 with blacked out windows and no plates. Hardy doesn't have any problems imagining it as a tactical assault vehicle on some battlefield. That nice mental image does not help his already rotten temper any more than a good poke in the eye with a stick would. If anything, it reminds him that he got very little sleep, he _still _doesn't drink coffee, the police are understaffed and overworked, and he's just been handed a new case on top of his others.

Oh, and it's exactly a year to the day since Rose Tyler went missing.

No, Alec Hardy is not in a good mood. In fact, he's in a very foul mood, and pity anyone who even comes across the wrong way.

There is an ongoing pool among the force, betting on how long it is before he shoots someone (someone who isn't a criminal and in definite and unquestionable deserving of being shot). The money is up to a good seventy quid.

Now, he arrives on his much unwanted crime scene to find…this. Someone warn the owners of the black 4x4 to be prepared to duck for rogue bullets.

"What kind of clearance?" Hardy rubs his temples and prays that whoever caused this mess has a very, _very _good reason.

"Umm…" The officer wrings his hands and steps back to what he thinks is out of strangling range; he obviously underestimated how quickly a sick-looking man like Hardy can _move. _"Special Ops, sir. It didn't actually say…just out of my jurisdiction…sir."

Ellie almost didn't believe it, because she'd thought it only happened in books and movies, but yes. She can actually see a vein pulsing in Hardy's forehead. _Oh, bollocks. _This can't possibly end well.

"Then _why _on God's Earth would you _let. them. through?!" _Hardy snarls, eye twitching.

It has been a very long day, and he just wants to go home, have a drink, and nurse a broken heart he hadn't realized he had until after his lady love was already gone. Now, he spends every night praying to a God he wasn't sure he believed in that she would come back, so he would have a second chance. Tell her how much she means—_meant _to him.

The supervisor looks sheepish and wary, and very much like he would like nothing more than to bolt like a rabbit to a safe distance. Ellie feels bad for the poor bloke; she of all people knows how nasty Hardy can get when he's in a proper, rotten sulk.

It doesn't escape her _why _this day is particularly sensitive—it's touchy for her too, she liked Rose—but he doesn't need to take it out on everyone and their mother.

Ellie decides to intervene before there's more than one homicide victim on the beach.

"Alright," she says, stepping between them; well, really, she's shielding the poor officer from the wrath of a thoroughly brassed off Detective Inspector. "Calm down, sir. Let's find out who these people are _before _you decide to go in ready for war."

For a moment, she thinks Hardy is going to strangle _her _instead, but then he backs down and turns away, stalking in the direction of the big CS tent. He mutters angrily to himself about incompetence and interlopers, and on this day _of all days. _He couldn't have mourned for Rose in peace, no, because

The crime scene team have been kept behind the tape, but Alec can pick out people moving in, out, and around the tent. From a distance, he can't make out anything more specific than black figures, but as he gets closer, he can make out specifics. The "special ops" aren't wearing any identifying insignias or patches, but most of them have firearms strapped to their backs or hanging at their hips—some kind of futuristic, sci-fi-looking guns that Alec have never seen before—and carrying around GPS's like cell phones.

Alec thinks he sees a familiar face—the spiked blond friend of Rose's, Alec hasn't seen him in months, ever since he gave him the letter—come out of the tent, but the closer he gets, the figure blurs and disappears, and Alec wonders if he ever saw it at all.

Bloody hell, it's just like the first couple of months with Rose.

And isn't that a scary thought?

It's also a thought that he doesn't let himself dwell on long, because it's associated with blonde hair and wide smiles, and chips and rain. Rose isn't coming back, he accepted that months ago. If he lets himself think that she's waiting around the corner with a smile and a hug, then it will just be that much harder when he finds empty air and silence instead.

He pushes past a few of the Special Ops when they try to stop him, and after knocking one straight back onto his arse, they just stand by and watch. Ellie trails behind him, handing out second-hand apologies like candy. He gets the feeling that there's some kind of unspoken conversation passing through the air, secrets he isn't privy to. It's a familiar feeling, and as usual, that silent discussion is about him.

He bursts into the tent, ready to snap the head off of anyone interfering with his investigation. The body had been covered with a sheet, but now it's been pulled back and there's a woman crouching next to it. Unlike the Special Ops guys, this woman's wearing civvies—probably a desk jockey called into the field, with short blonde hair.

And she has her hands all over his vic.

He drops a hand on the woman's shoulder and pulls her back roughly, saying, "Miss, what do you think you're—"

His voice disappears mid-sentence when he sees her face—wide-eyed, pale, and mouth hanging open, full of shock and disbelief. He imagines that he's not looking too different at the moment.

Finally, he finds his voice again, only to choke out one, four-lettered word:

"…Rose?"

**oOoOoOo**

**I apologize again for not updating Sunday, I was busy. So, here's the next two chapters. Beware, though, that my updates will be farther apart now, because this was the last chapter I had already written.**


	5. Dinner for Two

Well. This was incredibly awkward.

Alec watches Rose as she worries her lip with her teeth and continues to poke at her salad; she hasn't taken more than one or two bites since she got it. Though, that might have more to do with Jake doing a not-so-subtle shadowing routine at a nearby table than an actual lack of appetite. She's much paler than he remembers, thinner, and the bones in her face are more prominent. She's cut her hair into short layers that flutter when she moves her head too quickly; he isn't sure whether he likes it or not, but then decides that it's her decision and he shouldn't judge.

Truth be told, he is still in shock. He should have known, he realizes, when he saw the crime scene crawling in those Special Ops guys—Torchwood, as he finds out, but how was he supposed to know? He never actually met them face to face, she was always his connection.

He never expected for Rose to come back. Deep in his heart, he had long accepted that she was gone. Now, facing her at a table, he still feels like he's going to wake up any minute and realize that this is all in his head. The worst part is, he isn't sure if it's a nightmare or a hopeful dream, or which would be better.

Finally, he clears his throat and puts his cutlery down with a final sounding clink.

"We need to talk."

Rose smiles tightly, but not unpleasantly.

"I think that's been established, Detective Inspector."

So, she's back to calling him _Detective Inspector? _She only ever did that when she was joking or…or when something unspeakably bad was about to happen.

She shakes her head.

"No, 'm sorry, Alec, that's not fair. It's not you, I've just had a…tough couple of months. Actually," she admits, "it's been a tough couple of years."

He waits for her to start talking, and after a moment, she does.

Rose tells him about the dimensional cannon and the darkness from the beyond, which turned out to be a whole shitload of Daleks who somehow managed to find religion (apparently a bad thing). She tells him about Martha and Mickey—"he decided to stay behind in that dimension"—and the DoctorDonna—"A temp from Cheswick who thought she was useless—the most important woman in the universe!" There was Sarah Jane, who apparently has a son now, and Captain Jack's team in _Cardiff, _of all places! "It's like Broadchurch, 'cept their Rift's much bigger and badder."

He doesn't understand most of what she's talking about, but he likes to listen. He likes to watch as her face lights up in that most amazing way when she talks about her old friends. He wishes he could make her glow like that; she's perfect when she smiles. Well, she's always perfect, but particularly when she smiles.

Alec catches Jake glaring at him over Rose's shoulder, and she proves too involved in her story to notice Alec send a dirty look right back. Alec can completely appreciate the bloke's overprotectiveness towards Rose—it isn't like the DI is completely innocent of that particular crime, either—but for God's sake, it isn't like Alec is going to ax murder her! He—cares for her, after all. _And, _he's a policeman.

Then it's her turn to listen and his turn to talk.

He tells her about his cases and Ellie's kids, and how the town hasn't been the same. For God's sake, he thought she was dead! Having Jake deliver that letter was completely unfair, to all of them.

She coughs into her hand, smiles apologetically, and then coughs again, harder this time. She brings her purse up onto her lap and pulls out a small pill case, and taps out a capsule onto her hand. She swallows it with a sip of water; she opted out of wine, even though she used to happily share a glass with him.

"What is that for?" he asks, curious. He doesn't remember her taking pills before.

She gives him a crooked smile.

"Vitamin," she says, and he doesn't believe that at all.

But, he respects her choice to lie and lets it pass, because if she's lying to him, he has to believe that she has a good reason. If something was truly wrong, she would tell him; she wouldn't keep something like that from him, not after knowing what he went through with his heart.

The rest of dinner goes reasonably well, all things considered. At least she isn't lying about anything important. That's the easy part, Alec decides, as he pays for dinner. She isn't lying about her job—he knows she's a government operative who works with aliens and dangerous creatures, and that she's a time traveling shopgirl from another dimension—which is something he can't say he's _never _done. She's told him things so crazy and impossible that they couldn't possibly be lies.

Why was she lying?

They go for a walk afterwards, down to the pier for a 99. He remembers how she used to take a huge chomp out of her cone and get it all over her nose; she'd laugh and tease him about licking it off, and then swipe a napkin over it. Now, she licks it halfheartedly, staring out at the ocean with a faraway look on her face.

"Are you alright?" he asks, even though he knows she isn't.

She jumps, dropping her cone; it splatters on her shoes. She stares down at it, and laughs nervously. "Sorry!"

He mutters something about it being no big deal, he'll get another one, and leaves her standing on the pier. The entire time he's getting a new 99 from the cart, he's thinking about the look on her face when he spoke up. She forgot that he was with her. What is going on in her head?

He turns, 99 in hand, and freezes, eyes locked on Rose, where she lay unmoving on the pier.

"ROSE!"

**oOoOoOo**

**Well. **

**I really don't know what to say about this, except if you don't review, I won't update. Probably.  
**


	6. Something in the Dark

_She's running. _

_Where? No idea. No thoughts except, RUN, and it's not just her thinking it, she can _hear _it. Someone's shouting it. A man—he's familiar, who is he? She doesn't know him, she _knows _him. He's. He's. She can't remember, it's been so long, she doesn't remember._

_Run._

_Run._

_RUN_

_"Run for your life."_

_It was an awful lot of running, and she was tired, so tired, can't she just stop for a moment and sleep? Her step falters and she starts to slow.  
_

_"Run for your life."_

_It's a man, and a woman, both _so _old, and so many voices she knows but doesn't know. Men and women, children and elderly, the voices of millions of shades she can't quite grasp. There is an overwhelming feeling that she doesn't understand, because it's ancient and alien—also familiar, why can't she remember where she felt it before?—and she doesn't know who they are, but she listens._

_She keeps running._

_It's dark and damp, and she can't see a _thing_, not even the path. She can feel it underneath her shoes, solid and hard. The air around her—is it even air? It's thick and humid, and tastes like…bananas? in her mouth. She's moving through a thick, impenetrable black fog, it's pressing back on her._

_It's _alive. _The darkness is fucking alive. That doesn't bother her as much as she knows it should. It isn't even really a surprise, for some reason. Somehow, she already knew. The darkness that surrounds her-she knows what it is. She recognizes it. But, she can't name it.  
_

_A deep growl reverberates through the dark, straight into her bones and soul. It's deep and ancient, and older than anything she's ever encountered. Older than Him. Older than Her. It frightens her. And then she knows:_

_There's something in the dark._

_And it's coming for her._

**oOoOoOo**

**I regret nothing.  
**

**I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. You asked me to update soon, remember?  
**


	7. Dying Flowers

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The air is cold and eerily still, and smells of antiseptic and death. The walls are faded, streaked where they've been cleaned with too-strong bleach; ditto on the floor. There's plenty of room to move around, nowhere to get comfortable. But, then, comfort isn't necessarily needed in a place like this. Every room in the hospital looks the same, and he knows, because he's spent enough of his time here, before and after the surgery.

He sits at her bedside and holds her hand, and he waits.

It's been two hours since Rose collapsed on the pier and Alec called an ambulance. The medics made him drive separately, and meet them at the hospital. Then they wouldn't tell him anything except, "She's being taken care of," no matter how much of a fuss he made. Eventually, they threatened to call the police, at which point he promptly exploded that he _was _the bloody police, and Rose was his CI, so they'd better goddamn let him see her.

They called the station anyway.

It was at that point that Jake chose to make his appearance by punching Alec soundly in the face and knocking him on his arse, and then promptly demanded Rose's information.

The hospital gave it over without so much as a signature.

Bloody Torchwood.

Alec rips his eyes away from Rose's face to glance over at Jake. The blond man is leaning against the door, acting as a guard against who knows what, and chattering urgently into his earpiece. Strangest Bluetooth Alec's ever seen. He's not sure how to feel about Jake Simmonds, twenty-six, Scottish, married, no computer records _at all. _The man is rough around the edges and always on guard, eyes constantly moving as if to keep track of escape routes and potential dangers. He carries himself like a soldier who has seen too much combat—Alec recognizes that look—but there is no record of any _Jake Simmonds_ in the last fifty years serving in the military or police.

But, he clearly cares for Rose.

It's for that reason that Alec is doing his very best to ignore the distinctive bulge of a handgun under Jake's jacket.

Alec goes back to watching Rose.

He doesn't remember ever being this scared in his life. He isn't just scared; he's _terrified. _He's feeling something beyond fear, and it isn't even for him. He's terrified for her. His heart hurts, beating like a jackhammer in his chest, and somewhere inside him, he distantly knows that he should probably be worried about another attack. It wouldn't do to have them both in the hospital.

The much larger part of him doesn't care. All he cares about is Rose.

Whenever he gets up or moves around, he finds that he can't stop shaking. Over and over, he goes over the scenario in his head, and he knows that there was nothing he could have done. That doesn't make him feel any better. He knows what life without Rose is like—the year she vanished off the face of the Earth, and every year before she walked into his life—but he never wants to experience it again.

He knows it might be inevitable.

While he was waiting for the ambulance, he is ashamed to admit that he looked through her purse. Not to invade her privacy, of course, but to maybe find a clue. And good Lord, did he find something.

A wallet with her ID and cards, including money of a currency he'd never seen before. A piece of blank paper in a leather slip. Photos.

Sitting at her side, he imagines that he can feel the weight of that photo in his pocket. He feels guilty that he nicked it, but he needed to know.

It was a photo—well-loved, corners belt and worn soft, folded many times—of two people standing in front of a blue police box, the kind Alec hasn't seen since he was a little boy. One of the people was Rose—younger, brighter smile, but still Rose—in a pink jacket and battered sneakers. The other person was a man, tall and skinny in a brown suit and trench coat, and red Converse. His hair was wild, but in a carefully styled way. Both of them were grinning like mad, arms linked and body language clearly telling that they were much more than friends.

The man in the photo is him.

Alec doesn't know why this surprises him, because Rose told him at the beginning that the Doctor could've been his twin.

But, he hadn't really believed it until now. Rose hadn't been exaggerating, Alec and the man in the photo—the Doctor, her Doctor—are identical, except for a few minor differences in style. Identical where it counts. He idly wonders if they're identical _everywhere, _and then immediately decides that if he's feeling jealous that an ancient time traveling alien might be better endowed, he's worrying too much.

The photo wasn't all he found in her purse.

He also found a notepad with a list of medications scribbled on it—a lot of medications. He scanned them and recognized some of them.

Antidepressants. Iron supplements. Painkillers. Stimulants. Ibuprofen. An anticoagulant that he himself had taken for his heart.

Rose is sick.

More than that, Rose is dying.

**oOoOoOo**

**I'm so, so sorry.  
**

**Actually, no, I'm not.**

**Review, and I might update sooner.**


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